


Reception

by beyondcanon



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1859025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondcanon/pseuds/beyondcanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Mercedes’ wedding. Quinn hugs the wrong person from behind. Rachel finds out Quinn likes girls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reception

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of [my prompt challenge on Tumblr](http://beyondcanon.tumblr.com/tagged/ma%27s-prompt-challenge). Some stories will be posted on AO3; this is one of them. Enjoy! :)

The waiters – prim and proper and freshly pressed – swirl around with endless trays of champagne.

The grass is fresh and cool, like the abundant lilies decorating tables and corners.

It’s a beautiful wedding.

Quinn looks at her watch, golden and delicate on her wrist; Spencer is late. Spencer is always late, so often held hostage by an audience, a meeting, a very important negotiation.

Lawyers.

She sighs and looks around one last time, clutching her purse. She’ll have to congratulate Sam and Mercedes on her own.

Quinn’s eyes catch a small brunette, back to her, long brown hair falling on her back and impossible high heels on her feet – that’s her girl.

She hugs Spencer from behind, enjoying how their bodies fit together. “Took you long enough,” she mutters, placing a kiss on Spencer’s exposed shoulder.

—

It’s a very peculiar thing, being hugged by someone you don’t know.

Rachel freezes, at first, but a part of her registers Quinn’s scent, Earth and soft, and her entire body relaxes – of course she’d be here, every Gleek is supposed to be here.

Quinn wraps her arms on Rachel’s waist so certain, pulling their bodies together, handbag pressing against Rachel’s stomach, a determined palm against her navel; her heart thumps furiously in her ribcage.

“Took you long enough,” Quinn says, lips finding Rachel’s shoulder. It’s soft and gentle and _so_ warm; it’s over too soon.

She clears her throat, finding her voice. “Quinn?”

—

It’s  _not_  Spencer.

“Quinn?” Rachel turns her head, eyes meeting Quinn’s; she doesn’t look as angry as much as confused.

Crap. “Rachel?” She takes a step back, not as gracious as she would have liked – Rachel shouldn’t see imperfections, dammit – and her cheeks burn. “I thought—“

Rachel turns around, all long eyelashes and red lipstick. She raises her eyebrows just a little, amused grin on her face.

“I thought you were Spencer.” Quinn looks everywhere but the woman in front of her. “My girlfriend.”

—

Oh.

Quinn is  _gay_.

Rachel blinks a few times. “Your girlfriend,” she enunciates slowly.

Maybe bisexual. Pansexual?

“Yes,” Quinn says.

“Your lesbian lover.” Rachel probably has been staring for too long, but she can’t bring herself to care.

Quinn raises an eyebrow – she looks more like herself now, on top of her game, always challenging. “Yes.”

“That’s,” she swallows dry, “very good for you. Nice.”

Oh, the turns the world makes. Quinn Fabray’s taking a woman as a lover.

“There you are!” A short brunette appears, hugging Quinn’s side. “Sorry I’m late, babe.”

 _Babe?_ A woman like Quinn Fabray is  _not_  a barely-pubescent teenage steady date and should  _not_  be called such things.

Quinn rolls her eyes and smiles, thumb caressing the woman’s cheek – Rachel’s stomach tightens – and she gestures to Rachel. “It’s ok. Rachel distracted me.”

“Thank you for that.” Her hair is darker than Rachel’s, but barely by a shade. “I’m Spencer. It’s great to finally meet you.”

Quinn  _talks_  about her?

“It’s very nice to meet you, Spencer,” Rachel answers, plastering her best Broadway smile.

—

The champagne swims around in her brain.

Rachel pulls her aside hastily. “You never told me Quinn was into women!”

“Chill, Berry,” Santana says, downing her drink at once and setting the empty glass on a tray. “Aren’t you on Facebook? She’s dated women for years.”

Rachel’s eyes grow wide. “Years?”

“Yeah.” She nods, grabbing a whiskey glass from a waiter passing by. “She’s got a thing for brunettes. The short ones.”

“Pictures. Right now.” Rachel demands, still as authoritative as ever, watching as Santana takes her phone out.

“So this one is maybe 2011. And this is definitely Christmas 2011.” Santana begins the slide show on her phone. “This is summer 2012, but 2012-2013 was my favorite. She was fine.”

They were all gorgeous: tanned, long legs, thick brown hair, one with heavy bangs falling on her eyes, other with full lips, and so forth.

Brunettes are not Santana’s favorite, but she can appreciate.

She places the phone between her breasts again. “Spencer is 2013-2014,” she explains, sipping her drink intermittently. “She’s the coolest. She’s a lawyer, and she’s got a house on the beach.”

Rachel huffs. “I’ve got a house on the beach too.”

Santana squeezes her eyes a little – is that  _jealousy_?

“Yeah, but do you have your face between Quinn’s legs?” Santana answers, laughing when Rachel coughs on her own saliva. “That’s what I thought.”

She leaves for the dance floor, leaving behind an embarrassingly flustered Rachel.

—

She leans forward on the porch’s railing, taking deep breaths to digest the last few glasses of champagne.

The door creaks open behind her.

“You weren’t the hermit type, back in the day.” Quinn melodious voice surrounds her.

Rachel closes her eyes, suppressing a smile. “I needed the fresh air.”

“Are you feeling ok?” Quinn’s hand, gentle and unassuming, settles on the small of Rachel’s back. “Do you want me to get you a glass of water or something?”

Rachel shakes her head, smiling; her fingers wrap around Quinn’s upper arm. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“Good.” Quinn answers, playful, hand still very much in the same place. “I could make you company, if you want.”

“What about your girlfriend?” Rachel can’t bite her tongue sometimes. “Won’t she get jealous?”

Quinn shrugs, leaning against Rachel almost imperceptibly.

Almost.

“She’s probably grinding against Santana right now, anyway.”

—

Rachel’s got her back on the railing – hair floating low with the breeze – and she’s turned to Quinn.

“So you’re gay. Bisexual?”

“Pansexual, actually.” Quinn smiles. “Always straight to the point.” She pauses for a moment. “And don’t tell me you had never noticed.”

She’s standing right in front of Rachel, nursing a glass of red wine.

“What do you even—“ Rachel asks, propping herself on her elbows a little more.

From Quinn’s angle, Rachel’s collarbone looks very enticing.

“C’mon.” She raises an eyebrow. “You really didn’t notice that I spent most of high school pretending I  _didn’t_  have a crush on you?”

She’s not even embarrassed by it anymore. She’s already developed the antibodies to this particular feeling, after ten long years of constant teasing by Santana.

“You—Had. A—“ Rachel looks like she’s choking on plain air.  “Crushonme?”

Quinn rolls her eyes and finishes her wine. “Very much, yes. You  _did_  wear very short skirts, you know.”

Rachel’s irradiating heat, pupils blown, mouth slightly agape. It is very entertaining.

“So if I tried to kiss you, junior year—“ Rachel licks her lips, eyes very much locked with Quinn’s. “In the bathroom, during prom—“

Quinn clears her throat. “I would’ve kissed you right back.”

—

It’s late, the kind of late in a party that has people puking on bushes and fucking on dark corners.

Rachel needs to get one little thing out of her system.

She’s been obsessed with it all night.

Stumbling a little, she opens the bathroom door. Quinn’s there, fixing her makeup because she  _must_ be perfect and desirable and fucking gorgeous all the time.

“Hey.” She closes the door. “I thought I’d missed you leave.”

Quinn wets a small towel and places on her head, closing her eyes with a pleased little hum. She’s swaying, like she can’t stand properly straight, and Rachel’s staring at her ass.

“I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye,” she says, vowels long and stretched, blinking slow.

Rachel takes a few deep breaths.

“Do you still have?” she takes a few steps closer.

Quinn turns around, brows furrowing. “Do I have a what, Rachel?”

Spencer looks like Rachel. Christmas 2011 looks  _exactly_  like her, down to the nose. Summer 2012 resembled her in NYADA.

Maybe Quinn still wants her. “A crush. On me.”

She should stop staring at Quinn’s lips. “If I tried to kiss you, right now, in the bathroom—“

“I would kiss you right back.”

—

Sound echoes very easily in a bathroom.

Rachel kisses her, hard and desperate, and Quinn surrenders promptly. Her hands straight to Rachel’s hair, grabbing and pulling like she’s dreamed of, smiling against Rachel’s mouth when she hears the first small whimper leave that delicious mouth.

Rachel takes a bite, feisty, before joining their lips again. She tastes like cake and good champagne, and her perfume bathes her skin still; Quinn coaxes her tongue into her mouth and sucks on it.

She turns them around and Rachel sits on the sink, spreading her legs so Quinn can stand right between them. Quinn complies, clawing Rachel’s back to get her closer, kissing just below her ear.

She  _needs_  to kiss Rachel everywhere; her lips soon latch to skin, sucking and licking Rachel’s collarbone.

Her hands never stop, mapping Rachel’s body insistently, pushing fabric aside to feel the thighs she’s been lusting after, enjoying how they wrap themselves around her waist.

It’s when she earns her first moan. It echoes on the tiles, repeating itself on Quinn’s ears, and she decides she needs a second, and a third.

Rachel’s pulse point gets her number two, barely after ten second of hungry sucking. She smiles, swirling her tongue, scratching the inside of Rachel’s thighs.

Rachel’s hand grabs Quinn’s wrist and pulls it towards her, running from her thigh to right between her legs.

She’s lost, beyond the point of no return.

She complies.


End file.
